Boiling Beans
by Peridot Tears
Summary: Why didn't he kill him that night? Of what use was there to do what he had done? Yao confronted him, verbally. Why were brothers so eager to hurt one another? -Oneshot-


_Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters belong to this—guy—in—Japan—which—is—half—a—world—away. Get it? I'll have to cross an ocean to force the copyrights out of him. Unless he misses New York and gets enough money._

--

"Why didn't you kill me that night, aru?"

"...Na?" Japan threw China a slightly confused face. "What are you talking about?"—Yao could see that question etched upon Japan's face.

China wasn't fooled.

"You know, aru." "Don't lie," he wanted to add; but he refrained.

He received no answer; Kiku was silent; but China knew that face.

China wasn't fooled.

He received no answer.

He expected none.

Kiku was silent; but China knew that face. Japan's facial features were set—firm; determined; _ready._

Yao hated that look. (But once_...once, _he had loved it—all of it, and the boy he had raised...Japan, Kiku, Japan...it was still that little boy...but that was long ago…)

Yao hated him for that face.

He had been ready to turn on him...

Yao resisted the urge to take that stupid, stupid, _hateful _nation—(that he had once loved)—by the shoulders, shake him until sense returned to those blank brown eyes; (those eyes had once been so big); knock away that blank expression. He wanted some emotion from that boy he had raised with such doting and adoration. He wanted to see that face crumple into that distressed expression that he had cooed over when they were both younger, during the rare times when they had both _laughed _and even cried.

He wanted to yell at the boy—_man, _he admitted—for what suffering he had put him through.

Yao had always kept a foot in the past. The leg that followed was wrapped around the once-little boy he had been so proud of.

Yao asked again, "Why didn't you kill me, aru? You had the chance."

_Because you caught me off guard._

_Because you would never have done it until you actually did._

Because he couldn't hurt his brother.

Perhaps he would not hesitate now.

The leg would around Nihon, Japan, Kiku—it was tight; sometimes it was as if Yao wanted to kill him, squeeze his life away; sometimes it was just there to hold that long-gone memory close.

Kiku was changed, and Yao knew that. He knew only too well.

Was he still a brother to this faded man?

--

_Yao watched as Cao pointed at the painting and told Cao Zhi to make a poem within seven steps of his feet. The poem had to be about it..._

_...But not directly._

_Cao Pi._

_Cao Zhi._

_Brothers. Sons of the deceased Cao Cao._

_Yao remembered clearly the still-fresh image of the cunning man whose ruthless ways were the composure of his infamy. The cool, cool Cao Cao whose head was always before his heart._

_A strong and powerful man._

_A cold and villainous creature._

_And it was no wonder Shu had stopped calling him Mengde._

_Cao Pi had claimed the throne and Cao Zhi had drank after._

_Cao Zhi stood there, sober as anyone whose death hung over his head—unless he recited a poem. A poem to deflect his ominous fate._

_Yao saw that the words were already fixed in the young man's heart—his face was blotched with emotion._

"_Di yi bu," called a man._

--

"I did not kill you," Kiku said, slowly. "There was no use in killing you."

Something in Yao hitched.

"You still attacked me, aru," he said—as if alive and hearing, the scar on his back tingled. It had been there a long time; and still it hurt.

_You left me._

Japan did not look away.

Yao gripped Kiku's hand, a yell behind his lips; it danced there, beating for freedom. The distant little boy was never his. Never. They were not blood—by they were brothers. Whether Japan liked it or not.

Once upon a time.

Was the little boy still there?—Yao had not checked for a long time, and he still despaired.

"Kiku," he said—_ju hua...—_"why didn't you? And was there any need for what you did after? Aru," he added, upon a habit.

He spotted another cut on his once-brother's—once?—skin. Caressing it awkwardly, he waited.

"China," was the only answer.

--

"_Zhu dou...ran dou qi."_

_Boiling beans in a pot with stalks._

"_Di er bu," the man barked._

"_Dou zai fu zhong qi." The voice was soft._

_The beans in the pot cry._

"_Di san bu."_

_Another step._

_Yao waited._

"_Di si bu." _

_Yao saw the look on Cao Pi's face—new. Stunned._

_The tap declared the next step._

"_Di wu bu."_

"_Ben shi...tong gen sheng."_

_Originally, we were born from the same root._

_The man's hand twitched at his sword._

_Beans speaking of relation? Yao wanted to laugh and cry at the same time—clear and powerful words, they were._

"_Di liu bu."_

_Step._

"_Xiang jian..."_

_Step, before the man spoke._

"_...he tai ji?"_

_To burn each other...why so eager?_

--

You're my brother.

The words hung in the air without being spoken. They were not needed.

Yao understood, as the tiniest of lights came to Kiku's eyes.

Perhaps—just perhaps—the little boy was still there. China's words were his seduction.

Words were not needed—he understood Kiku to that extent.

China let go of his brother's hands.

--

_Cao Zhi was degraded in rank._

_But Cao Pi let him keep his life._

_They were brothers, after all._

_Yao watched as the order was issued, watched the tears glaze over in the ruler's eyes; and only an old eununch who would later forget saw the strange smile across his face._

_Perhaps, if he had remembered, there would have someday been an Eastern Mona Lisa._

--

With a tenderness that had once been saved for Kiku, Yao wrapped the bandage around his forehead.

Kiku's breathing labored slightly, rasped in his throat—it was almost an "arigatou."

"Bu yong xie."

Kiku was his own nation now, after all.

--

_**PT: Okay, so I translated the poem myself X_x I'm sorry I didn't take one of the official translations. But seriously, I'd feel kind of ashamed to not do it myself and let someone who isn't even a fluent speaker do the job for me. The time setting can be set around the terrorist attack at the train station in Japan, with the nerve gas; or after the Sino-Japanese war, I read somewhere that Chinese people took in orphaned Japanese children. The italicized parts are China's memories—of the part of the Three Kingdoms period of China. I've been a fan since I was four...no, really. So I was pretty damn happy when it was mentioned in Hetalia (in that fake news thing, called "Sangokushi" in Japanese). No, it's not Dynasty Warriors D: That's just a cheap rip-off that killed the story. –Shot- Romance of Three Kingdoms is a famous novel, one of the best of China—based off the real period in history after the Han Dynasty fell. However, the story is highly romanticized. This happens to be a part after the whole story pretty much fell apart—everyone starts dying. Cao Cao was a ruthless character, whose style name was Mengde. Shu, a rival kingdom, stopped calling him that, for to not call someone by their style name at the time dishonored them. Cao Cao, they thought, did not deserve that honor. The man counting—"Di yi bu…er…san…"—well...I could have just said "Yi bu, er bu..." for I'm following the scene from the 1995 adaption of the story—but I felt like using "di." "Bu yong xie" is a way of saying you're welcome—literally "[You] don't need to thank [me]." So, end the long-ass note. I hope you enjoyed.**_

**_...I might write more fics based off the Three Kingdoms..._**


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